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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683765">Chance Encounters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypond8/pseuds/lilypond8'>lilypond8</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Flirting, Flirting, Lots of blushing, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Mostly Fluff, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug, What-If, but it's ok they kiss, cuz I'm dumb and bad at writting, mentions of sibling abuse, neither of them are as sly as they think they are, we're here for a good time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:33:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypond8/pseuds/lilypond8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hilda was Sylvain's type. If he'd ever had such a thing. He'd been called many thing's in his albeit short life, but picky was never one of them. And so he squares he shoulders and approaches Hilda from across the ballroom floor.<br/>How he ended up with Claude in his arms was another story entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Call it Curiosity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/omobot/gifts">omobot</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! This work was inspired by the amazing artwork of omobot! Go follow them on twitter! They make lovely art and write really cool stories!<br/>https://twitter.com/matrihomies/status/1206099184568479744</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hilda was Sylvain’s type.  If he’d ever had such a thing, He’d been called many things in his albeit short life, yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>picky</span>
  </em>
  <span> was never one of them. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of the rumors that he tended to attract, he just never let that slow him down. Sylvain just let the words (and their unfortunate connotations) roll off his shoulders. A girl once told him that they were his second most appealing feature. It was obvious as to what had actually gotten her to act on her attraction, but being complimented on something other than his crest was...novel, to say the least. He couldn’t remember her name, or the honeyed words that lead her to his bed that night, but he did remember this one sentiment. It was an odd thing to mention, and perhaps it was even said with sincerity, but it stuck in his mind non the less. And so, Sylvain squares his shoulders as he approaches Hilda, they were his second best feature after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How he ended up with Claude in his arms was another story. Sylvain’s hands are pressed into the slight dip of the Golden Deer leader’s back as he leads them across the ballroom at a leisurely pace. Claude has his fingers linked behind Sylvain’s neck with his arms resting in the crooks of his shoulders, presumably content to follow along despite his rather abrupt intrusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“May I have this dance?” is what Sylvain would have said. He stood in a half bow, hand outstretched as an offering to the beautiful girl threading strands of pink hair through her fingers. It was the right thing to say. The polite thing to say in this setting, a setting he was groomed to traverse through since birth. But Syvain had yet to even open his mouth when someone else spoke first. “I would love to have this dance,” His eyes snapped up at the sound of words stolen, to see the future leader of the Alliance, smiling down at him with the cheshire cat’s grin. Claude took Sylvain’s gloved hand and that was that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dreaming already? You sure do know how to make a girl feel special.” It takes a moment for Sylvain to get out of his own head, but when he does come back to himself, Claude is smirking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the view.” The words fall from Sylvain’s lips before he really has a chance to process what he’s saying but by the way Claude’s face flushes ever so slightly as his smile which spreads just an inch wider, he thinks he’s said the right thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That thought doesn’t last long, as Claude’s speaks again over the soft classical music, “Cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Cute?” He can't help his own blush now creeping across his face, however slight, but he does quirk an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t appreciate the compliment, but, ah, aren’t you worried people will talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? The heir to the Leicester Alliance sharing the floor with the most infamous playboy at Garret Mack? Come on, what’s there to even talk about?” It’s said in jest, they both know the kind of heat Claude was playing at. The kind of fire that catches to tinder all too quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They may not know each other personally, but it seems their reputations are mutual. Sylvain has heard the whispers of the outsider, trickster and traitor of the like. All these supposed truths, they seem to cling to air around them and yet the House leader refuses to let them touch him. He holds his head high, and is never seen without a smirk on his face. Sylvain is struck by how similar they are, and in that moment he wants to see just how true that thought is. He tests the waters, letting his hands slip just a fraction of a inch down the other’s back and looks him in the eye. “That all depends on how much material you’re willing to give them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush spreads across the other’s face is reward enough, and Claude pauses a moment. Eventually, he does speak, “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. There have been a few...comments made about your behavior towards some of the girls here, specifically the girls in the Golden Deer house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it is. “Look If, you point me in the right direction, I’ll apologize and hopefully we can sort this out-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to get to know you better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, and here I thought you were the one to go to for this kind of thing...” Claude murmurs, more to himself than anything. He makes a vague gesture with one hand, and Sylvain is now extremely aware of his other hand, still resting atop his shoulder. “Anyways. ” Claude begins, smile still present, despite Sylvain coming to a complete stop on the ballroom floor, “As much as I hate to admit this, I’ve sort of...pieced together my own view of you. What kind of person you are, etc. And, well, I want to know if any of it holds water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you’re...curious? About me?” Flattery gives way to suspicion and then confusion. In that order. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Claude had no reason to learn anything about him. The Leicester Alliance holds more power, land and influence than House Gautier ever could. But If this isn't about money or crests, then what is this about? Sylvain’s brows crease, and it’s that moment that he realizes he’s started leading again, this time out of sync with the music. He stops, then steps too quickly, then stops again, suddenly self conscious and disoriented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude seems to take this as an invitation to lead, and does so with a smile.”I wouldn’t say curious but you do cut an interesting silhouette.” The music begins to wind down, and they part from one another. “Think about it, will you?” He says with a wink, and leaves Sylvain dazed in the middle of the ballroom floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a boar, you’re a whore-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what does that make you, Felix?” Ingrid says, taking her usual seat at the table between them. Sylvain isn’t particularly tuned into their conversation, his mind still reeling from the night before.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Think about it, will you?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was like a curse spoken onto him. He thought about it. Thought about what it meant, what the other boy had asked of him. With a well placed smile and wink, Sylvain was all but putty in his hands, and that was- unnerving to say the least. All his walls crumbled one by one and he hated it. He hated feeling vulnerable, and that feeling had left him off kilter. Sylvain was off his game, and he didn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It makes me the only smart one in Faerghus, apparently.” Felix snaps at Ingrid loudly enough to pull Sylvain out of his own head. Ingrid, luckily, doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead opting to let Felix murmur under his breath, “The two of you, fraternizing with the enemy-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain chokes out a “It’s not like that-“ in the same breath that Ingrid scrambles to say “I-It was only tea!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stop to eye each other suspiciously, but Felix just slams his hands down on the table and forcefully rises. “Pathetic, the both of you.” He leaves, presumably to go eviscerate some poor dummy in the training hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is peace, if only for a moment, then Ingrid turns to face him, “So…Claude huh?” The inquiry feels more like a threat in the moment, and it has him sputtering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you're talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t act like that. Word gets around quickly.” Ingrid says, then frowns, before murmuring “I knew you weren’t that particular, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what?” it comes across more accusatory than he’d like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He came from nowhere, Sylvain,” Her whispers take on an urgency that he hasn’t heard from her since- well since then. “I just don’t- I don’t want you to get into something you might regret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you and Dorothea then? You gonna stop hanging around her because you haven’t seen her family tree?” It’s said sharply, but surprisingly, he means every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid frowns “You know that’s not what I meant-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think I know exactly what you meant.” He sighs, “Look, let me make my own choices, and I’ll let you make yours, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid just looks at him for a moment, like she doesn’t recognize him at all. “Fine.” She finally says and stands to leave, her food left uneaten on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s alone again in that crowded hall. It’s only later does he realize he’d already made his choice, he just needed to say it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Getting to Know You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Claude has trouble recognizing what a friend is, and Sylvain is given a few things to mull over.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know, when I said I wanted to get to know you better, I didn’t think you’d commandeer my room like this.” Sylvain is in Claude’s room- not that Claude minded. With Sylvain’s reputation, he figured they’d get back here sooner rather than later. He just hadn't expected these visits to be so...chaste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commandeer?” Sylvain said from the fortress of books he’d haphazardly stacked on Claude’s bed. “Isn’t that a little too strong a word? it’s not like I’m In here all the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SYLVAIN!” The sound of some shrill girl’s cry is enough to have the red head shrink back behind his makeshift barrier of books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude ducks too when something large and ceramic shatters against the opposing in the other room. “My mistake. You're not here all the time, just most of the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, “Well, your room is the closest to mind, plus you don’t rag on me like Ingrid does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So all I have to do is nag you to get you to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of pulling a face, the redhead simply smirks, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I know you won’t. You enjoy my company too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, to a certain extent, he did. It was odd at first, Claude can’t deny. He’d never been close to someone for the sake of closeness itself. His peers rarely sought him out of their own volition, even among his own house. Not that he could blame them, with all the rumors of </span>
  <em>
    <span>the deer who’s more like a rat </span>
  </em>
  <span>making their rounds</span>
  <span>. They kept their distance, kept things short and impersonal. And of all his time spent at the academy he’d never once been bothered by this. But then there was Sylvain. Sylvain, who decided to barge into his room one day and just not leave. Sylvain, who made nests of his academic papers yet never bothered to so much as read any of them. Sylvain, who passed the time asking frivolous, meaningless questions about which girl had caught his eye that day. Sylvain, who takes naps in his room as if it were his own. All for the sake of closeness? Perhaps. Or maybe he was just too dim to take advantage. Still, his presence had became a welcomed one. Claude supposes that hiding the noble from his ever growing list of exes makes the heart fonder still. Or at the very least, more tolerant. Plus it’s always nice to have a test subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t really disagree with you on that front, but I haven’t exactly learned anything too interesting about you yet.” He hopes his playful demeanor will disguise his frustration on that particular front. “Here, take this.” Claude passes a beaker filled to the brim with a fizzing green liquid to his lazy redhead situated on his bed, and Sylvain takes it without complaint. It’s a part of their odd little arrangement. Safety for statistics and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shrugs, “You're the one who wanted to get to know me better.” Sylvain smirks at him, “I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but you really get what you pay for when it comes to people like me. What’s in this stuff anyways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing but a mix of soda ash and essence of sinensis, along with a few other things. You know, for flavor.” Claude’s smile broadens as he watches the other boy drink from the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you could sell these potions of yours. With the last one you gave me, I even gave Dedue a run for his money when we trained. What’s this one supposed to do anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing nearly as interesting as that.” Claude says in a measured tone. “It’s supposedly a truth serum.” He watches the redhead pause, eyes flickering to the door and back, before adopting a more apathetic expression. “Found it in some long dead apothecary’s diary in the library,” Claude adds causally, punctuating his words by closing the book on his desk. “I figured I could try and recreate the magic. But I’m not sure how effective these particular potions were, considering how much good it did him.” He can’t help but peer at his companion, “But I figured you wouldn’t mind helping me out, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah…” the hesitation in Sylvain’s voice is tangible. Any other time, he commands confidence like it’s his job, but just one hitch in the plan and he’s as confused as the day he was born. Well, there’s no shame in needing a little direction now and then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can always leave, and just tell me about your symptoms later.” Another shriek from just outside the door punctuates his words, “If you're willing to take your chances, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how exactly are my chances with you?” Sylvain is flirty by nature, but it’s still surprising to be on the other end of that coy, practiced smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh don’t worry,” Claude fires back with a wink, “I’ll be gentle.” The red head blushes up to his ears, and there’s this light, floaty feeling in Claude's chest. He decides not to focus on it, lest he get a complex. He changes the subject instead, “My first question: what’s her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain takes a moment to shake the fluff out of his ears, “Ah, who? Oh! Oh, her...right. Her name, it’s ah… Emily? Emery? Yea. Emery. That’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emery. Claude knew...of her. They had never spoken so much as one word to each other and hadn't had a chance too, considering their houses. The Black Eagles were probably the house he was most familiar with- outside of his own. And yet Emery wasn’t on his radar at all. He knew of her mother, a shrill woman with high cheekbones and an even higher voice, as she was only tangentially related to Baron Ochs. Emery’s family had probably sent her here in a last ditch effort to gain even an inkling of political power. Should have saved their money, considering how much good it’s done them. Still, she seemed to be a kind enough girl, even if she was in over her head. “So, what did you do to piss her off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shook his head, “It’s nothing nearly as scandalous as your thinking. I just left her in my room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude can only imagine the state she was left in. “Well, that’s not very chivalrous of you. You must have hurt her feelings.” Claude chides.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shrugs noncommittally, “You can’t really hurt someone you don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude blinks, “You really think like that, Casanova?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer came after a long pause, “She thought as much of me as I did her, but we had our fun. Isn’t that enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. “I guess that all depends. She doesn’t seem too happy about it, stomping around and all that.” Claude says playfully. Sylvain doesn’t respond, seemingly catatonic among Claude’s growing collection of overdue books. Brevity maybe the soul of wit, but it does nothing for Claude. He needs words, enjoys the speculation that comes with a well placed lie. Anything but silence will do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you drink that?” Claude asks after a moments hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude pursed his lips. “You just drink whatever I hand you. I could have poisoned you. Killed you a million times over. Yet you still drink it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you haven’t tried to kill me yet. That’s pretty good in my book.” The words come and go so casually, but their implication’s mean everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude needs...time. Time to process everything he’s just heard. “Ok, game’s over.” He panics. And then yawns to cover it up. He tosses a book vaguely in Sylvain's direction, and listens to him squawk in surprise. “Time to pack it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? But what about the truth thingy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing but a placebo.” Claude usher’s the red head out of his room, “I’ll see you later.” And it is only when the door shuts does he allow himself to think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who tried to kill you, Sylvain? And more importantly, why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emery finds him, because of course she does. They always do, thinking that yelling and screaming will somehow amend the situation. She has him cornered in the green house next to a bouquet of wilting Azaleas, yelling the same things they always do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could you! I trusted you! </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I didn’t ask for your trust.” is what he wants to say. But he never does. It's like a play where all the roles are static, but the cast changes all the time. And he can’t go off script. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Sylvain’s thoughts wander, even amidst the girl’s crying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s nothing but a mix of soda ash and essence of sinensis…” </span>
  </em>
  <span> Green tea. Sylvain knew it was green tea. Knew before it was even handed to him. It fizzed sure, but Sylvain had poured enough tea for the noble lords and ladies of Fodlan to know exactly how tea is supposed to smell and taste, but Claude's never given him anything more adventurous than Almyran tea. And eventually, he just stopped checking. At first it was curiosity that led him to his door, but now he’s not so sure. Why would Claude lie to him about something so inconsequential? Maybe it’s just retribution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to wonder why girls would even approach him, knowing that he couldn’t help the lies that spilled forth like water. Now he’s not so sure if he wants to know.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Despite me not being completely satisfied with this chapter...I got excited. Sue me.<br/>A few things. 1) I wanted to make it clear that Claude is just as awkward at the whole 'interactions' thing as Sylvain. Tricking someone into drinking your fake truth serum  isn't really a great start to any friendship, but forgive him! He's new at this whole 'having friends' thing.<br/>2) Also just want to make it clear that Claude doesn't condone Sylvain's treatment of women. But we'll touch on that later.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Where Flowers Bloom...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's not often that Claude allows himself time to relax.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Claude doesn’t look for people. He isn’t necessarily the type to seek anyone out, on his own behalf or others. He more or less just lets things happen, at least superficially. There were just too many things going on in the background. Too many bids for power, too many hands exchanging favors, and too many contingencies to keep track off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is in one of those rare moments when Claude has a moment to really analyze the machinations going on outside of Churches’ reach, does he realize that he has wandered off the beaten path between the school and the town just below it. Claude had taken to coming there at night just for the calm and solitude it offered. During the day, apparently, it offered nothing of the sort. He hears it first, a chorus of children’s laughter echoing out from the natural dip of the valley. He sees them not long after, children, singing, dancing, picking flowers and returning them to the figure in the center of their little gathering. Claude squints his eyes, and peers closer at…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Claude?” It’s Sylvain, looking scandalized (for once) among his place seated amongst the growing pile of flowers. His eyes are wide and his cheeks match the red of his hair, it’s almost enough to make Claude laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were so good with kids.” Claude says as he approaches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you know me,” Sylvain shrugs, leaning back, “I can never say no to a cute girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chorus of “ew”s comes from all around them and the little girl twisting her hands in Sylvain’s hair gives it a sharp tug. “Stop being gross! We’re only playing with you because you said you’d teach us how to braid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I would! I just didn’t expect you to want to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> hair...” Sylvain sounds exasperated, but the fondness is evident in his voice when he adds, “It’s hard to teach when you can’t see what you're doing, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other children laugh at that, and go about wasting their time in their own unique ways. Some pick flowers, while others while others sing and dance to the tune of traditional nursery rhymes, while others still play some variation of “Knights and captives.” It makes for a charming, almost idyllic scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smallest of the kids, a little girl with dark pigtails and an uneven fringe, waddles up to Claude Instead of rejoining her friends. She smiles up at him, and produces a flower from behind her back. It was a yellow daisy, uncommon for Fodlan this time of year, but nonetheless abundant among the rest of the freshly plucked foliage. “..It matches your cape.” She murmurs, hiding her hands behind her back, now increasingly interested in the blades of grass poking out from between her toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sentiment isn’t a particular strength of Claudes, but in the moment, he’s touched, then inspiration strikes. “Could you get me a few more of these? I want to show you something.” She nods, and barely any time passes before the child’s returned with a pile of green stems and white petals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment for Claude to remember exactly how to do this, but the muscle memory takes over pretty quickly. He plops the newly woven daisy chain down on her head. “See? Looks pretty good if I do say so myself.” He takes a second to bask in her wide eyed wonder, before watching her run off to declare herself queen of the daisies and presumably start a new game. Claude wonders absent mindedly, if the child would still be so eager to dawn such a heavy tite, if she knew the how much blood was on any given royal's hands. History has proven time and time again that nobles are only noble in name alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, and turns back towards Sylvain. Who was apparently watching the entire time. Claude suddenly feels uncharacteristically shy, something that is becoming more and more expected in the other’s presence. “What? You really find me that interesting?” He says, fervently refusing to acknowledge the color in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily Sylvain seems just as flustered in the moment. He goes to shake his head, only to pull at the little hands already tugging at his scalp. He gives a sharp hiss, before looking back to Claude with a semi-forced smile, “No, but do you mind sticking around a while? I’d be nice to have some company-” There's another sharp tug- “Some company my age, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is how Claude ends up spending his afternoon teaching these kids how to section off Sylvain’s red tufts of hair and twist them into what probably could be considered a braid, if he squinted. And after that fiasco, they crowd him, demanding to be taught how to make daisy chains of their own. Despite his varying success on that front, It was nice to be able to focus on something a little less heavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon and the children go home, wherever that maybe. Claude leans back, enjoying the way the light retreats and casts the world in hues of purple and blue. Sylvain looks content enough at his side, with his arms linked behind his head as he lounges in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvan is the first to disturb the quiet, “You seem really good with kids. Have any siblings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not any better with them than you are.” Claude shrugs before continuing, “But yea, I have a few.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Older or younger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both. An older sister and a younger brother. “Claude’s hands aimlessly find the leftover pile of flowers, deemed too wilted and plucked to be woven into anything. He starts straightening the stems. “She’s the one who taught me how to make those crowns actually. Never thought it’d come in handy, but-” He yawns, “...Stranger things have happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peaks over his shoulder, to see Sylvain staring at him again, this time with a more serious look in his eye, in contrast to his lax position. Then he lets a small smile curl across his lips, and closes his eyes, “Must have been nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation dies after that, and Claude lets it, for once content with how he’d spent his time, even if it was a bit less productive than he’d hoped it to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>------------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain wakes the next morning in a field bereft of flowers and a crown of green laying on his chest.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My favorite chapter. This is the very first thing I wrote for this fic. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Where Ideas Sleep Between Covers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain and Claude bond over their similar traumas.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain finds Claude in the library most nights. He was weary of the endless rows of books at first. Maybe he just enjoyed being (relatively) the tallest person in the room, but that doesn’t mean much when you're surrounded on all sides by leather bound books, stacked tall and crammed onto dusty shelves.</p><p>“Maybe you're claustrophobic?” Claude hums, not bothering to look up from his book. A collection of texts spiraled out from the house leader’s place on the floor. Sylvain drapes his body over a particularly ill placed pile, taking up an increasingly uncomfortable pose just to lay his head in Claude’s lap. It was an open bid for attention, but Claude cranes his book upwards and his eyes follow suit.</p><p>The two have settled into this strange quiet ritual. It would almost be routine, if not for the calculations Sylvain can see behind his every move. On any other night he would ask Claude to stop, to take a break, and whine down, Claude would refuse, and instead they would play a game, usually something with a lot of arbitrary rules. Chess was a favorite, but Claude had shown him other games as well, like Tapa and Patience.</p><p>“Maybe…” Sylvain replies after a while. He reaches up and gently tugs the book from Claude’s hands. It’s thick, thicker than any non-dictionary-book had any right to be. He turned it over to see its embroidered cover. “A Complete History of Continental Fodlan? Huh. Keeping the reading light, as always.” It was always some kind of thick tome. He flips to a random page, “Faergus, ruled over by a monarchy and protected by a loyal order of knights. The Holy Kingdom is fiercely influenced by the Church of Serios... the eight noble houses are enduring supporters of the church and all it’s ideological yada yada yada. How do you read this stuff? Seriously?”</p><p>Claude plucks the book out of his hands, “What do you mean? You <em> live </em>there.”</p><p>It’s a statement, not a question, yet he feels the need to respond regardless, “Not during school I don’t.” He scoffs, “Sides...they're just going through the motions. There’s nothing in this book worth reading.” Sylvain knew he was probably biased. He’d trained with a lance before he knew how to read, but there wasn’t much helping that.</p><p> “I’m not so sure about that one.” Claude challenges, “I’ve learned more within these four walls than I have in any of our classes.” His voice takes on an almost whimsical tone, “the secrets you can uncover by just cracking open the spines of one of dusty tomes...It can leave you speechless.”</p><p>Sylvain was...less than convinced. Not that he couldn’t appreciate a good book, mind you. It was just that...well there are other ways to bide your time, and Sylvain preferred warm bodies over antique volumes. They just never caught his interest the way living breathing people did.  But Claude’s veneration for the written word? <em> That </em> interested him more than any book could. “How about a trade then?” Sylvain sits up, allowing his elbows to bear the majority of his weight.”You teach me something I don’t know, and I’ll teach you something you can’t learn in a book.”</p><p>Claude smirks at the proposal, possibly expecting his turn in demeanor. Not that Sylvain minded, being predictable wasn’t necessarily an insult. “Ok, why not? I’ll play your game.” Claude says.</p><p>They shift positions so that they end up sitting across from one another. Sylvain wants to see him. See the way he fidgets with his hands, and watch the way his eyes flit from one book cover to the next. <em> He wants to know if Claude has any tells </em>. But Claude does none of these things, instead opting to speak, “So, you want me to go first then?”</p><p>“Eh, since you're new at this, why not?”</p><p>Claude chuckles, “And they say Chivalry is dead past the borders of Faergus.” A thoughtful moment passes, and then Claude smirks, like he’s somehow caught the canary. “Well, turns out our little pantheon was a whole lot bigger than what it is now. I found these...scrolls. I guess you could call them that. Loose-leaf parchment, rolled and tied off  with string. Couldn’t begin to tell you what they're about, but I know a family tree when I see one. It starts with a being named Sothis but there are other names. Sirius, Sah, and funnily enough Serios.”</p><p>Sylvain wasn’t particularly religious, if adultery is a sin as they say, he’d crossed that bridge a long time ago. But something like this? “Are you sure?” Sylvain says, somewhat skeptically.</p><p>“Well, it’s not something I can really prove,” Claude says, a little hesitantly, as if he’d just now realized how his mouth had run away with his thoughts. “But that’s why I thought it safe enough to tell you. Religions shift from one prominent figure to the next all the time. Even If you found this stuff interesting enough <em> to </em> talk about, It’d just be written off as hearsay. ”</p><p>Sylvain can’t help the fond smile on his face. “You’ve really thought of everything, huh.”</p><p>“Well, someone has too,” Claude mirrors his expression ”Alright, your turn.”</p><p>Sylvain blanks for a moment, scratching the back of his neck in some feeble attempt to stall for time. ”...One thing that I’ve learned...is that it doesn’t take much to get people to like you.”</p><p>“Oh, Really?”</p><p>“Uh, Yea. All you really need is confidence, and the genes to back it up.”</p><p>Claude looks as impressed as he sounds. “I knew that already.”</p><p>“But I guarantee you didn’t learn it from a book.” Sylvain smiles.</p><p>Claude frowns, “You cheated.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be the first time.” It’s a dark joke. Something that would have gotten him an earful in anyone else’s presence, but not Claude. </p><p>Instead his companion smirks, “I’d forgotten who I was dealing with.”</p><p>“And who is that, exactly?”</p><p>“Someone who goes out his way <em> not </em> to cheat in our chess matches, that's who.” Claude says, letting a small smile preach his expression. “Someone who might have a death wish considering how many times he’s pissed off a certain blonde. But also, he’s someone who refuses to kiss and tell, no matter how promiscuous he gets. You can stop me anytime you know.” </p><p>Sylvain’s sure the blush on his face is as strong as the color in his hair, but he smiles through it anyway. “No no, I like it when you sing my praises. Tell me I’m pretty.” </p><p>Claude snorts, “Not on your life.”</p><p>“Was worth a shot.” </p><p>Claude smirks, “Guess you’ll have to earn my praise some other way.”</p><p>“Like?” </p><p>“Like playing the game <em> you </em> proposed.”</p><p>“You may have a point there.” Sylvain secedes, and then he thinks. He stops to really ponder what he knows...and that’s not a lot. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t think he’s stupid or anything, it’s just that his talents lay...else where.  “Ok, fine...something you can’t learn in a book is…” Sylvain is not stupid. On the contrary, he is very intelligent. He learned how to navigate the social spheres of the nobility , and was quick to   He just doesn’t like to think. Thinking causes problems, crosses too many wires and drudges up those painful memories he’d like to forget like “how to catch poison.” </p><p>“Hm?” Claude looks interested now, even if his outward body language says otherwise. </p><p>Shit, “Yea,” Sylvain’s thoughts run from him  “It makes everything taste...weird. Some poisons are bitter, while others are...less so.” Sylvain says. He can't help but remember the way sugared lead tastes in milk. It’s sweet and makes his </p><p>“There are plenty of books on poisons.” Claude says tugging on his braid and unintentionally pulling him from the memory. “ How do I know you didn’t just get it from one of those?” </p><p>“Trust me if I could have learned it from a book, I would have.” Humor was one of the few defense mechanisms Sylvain had in the face of his past. No matter what repressed memory surfaced, he knew he could push it right back down with a well placed joke. Sylvain laughed as if it happened to someone else.</p><p>Claude stares at him as if he’s grown two heads. Then he’s laughing too. It feels sharp and pointed and painful, as if he knows more than he lets on. But the claws in his chest retract when the house leader sighs and says “You said it. All learning about poisons did was make me wish they’d tried the faster acting ones.” </p><p>The horror of these words will dawn on him later. They will keep Sylvain up at night wondering who could possibly want Claude- the boy with big honest eyes and a sly smile and who is so much better than him- to die. Later he’ll throw up, wondering where the lingering taste of lead had come from. But for tonight Sylvain only sighs, letting a genuine smile across his lips as he thinks that at least the house leader has a sense of humor.</p><p>It goes on like that for a while, trading secrets for memories passed off as fact, although Sylvain is more careful with his offerings. Eventually the game shifts, and Sylvain just reclines and listens to Claude ramble about the few things that have piqued his interest in this sea of words.</p><p>“There are other lands, outside of Fodlan. Places that wouldn’t even notice if our tiny little corner of the world just...went away.” He opens that heavy tome again- the one with the embroidered cover,  this time flipping to the very last page. “See here? It is recorded that long before the Adrestrian Empire was even named by some oracle somewhere, that the people who lived on its far eastern border met another group. A band of seafaring folk, who spoke a foreign tongue.” he point’s down at the map that now spans both covers. “It’s said that they landed right about...here, off the shore of modern day Rubello.” Then, the other looks up at Sylvain, this time with stars in his eyes. “There’s record of that encounter, of how they dawned purple at a time where dyes were selective and rare. These mysterious visitors had technologies at their disposal far greater than anything seen had at the time. Large wooden structures, that later became the basis for our catapults, and Reason spells that could split the clouds in the sky. They could have easily destroyed any of the coastal settlements, but they didn’t. From what I gather, they didn’t do so much as disturb a blade of grass. They just left.” </p><p>Sylvain takes in the sight of an genuinely ardent Claude. The look in his eyes, and the way he’s leaned forward slightly, as if he could pass on his own captivation with the subject if he were only a bit closer. For someone so...analytic, it was interesting. Interesting enough to make a gamble. “I...don’t think that’s true,” Sylvain finds himself saying, after a moment in thought.“...In just that one meeting, everything changed, right?”</p><p>Claude stills, apparently aware of the negligible distance between them. Green eyes dart down, then back up, searching his face. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“...I’ll show you.”</p><p>The palm of Sylvain’s hand finds the slender curve of Claude’s jaw, and it’s different. Different from the soft curve of the girl he’d had just the night before. Claude was sharper than that, all angles where once were soft lines. And funnily enough, in the moment, Slvain welcomes the change. It's the last thing that runs through his mind as he captures the corner of the boy’s mouth with his own.</p><p>When he pulls back, Claude’s face is flushed up to his ears and he’s looking almost demure in the soft light of the library candles. “Hm, makes sense I suppose.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1) Sylvain said head empty. And tbh same.<br/>2) The people Claude talks about in this chapter are inspired by the Sea Peoples. And while their IRL counterparts were a lot more destructive, the strangeness of the encounter always struck me as interesting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Searing Light of Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain and Claude have tea.</p><p>post: Chapter 5; Tower of Black Winds. <br/>Warnings: non-explicit Sibling abuse, non-explicit Child abuse, non-explicit mentions of suicide, non-explicit mentions of death and sad vibes all around</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“He tried to kill me. A few times actually.” It’s one of the very few times he’s seen the young reagent in the searing light of day. Perhaps that’s what‘s got him being so honest. Or maybe it’s just the relief- that came at the end of a life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Claude sits across from him with the tea set acting as a barrier, though it was mostly for decoration. Still, Sylvain lifts his cup, and watches the tea leaves swirl aimlessly at its dregs. “Once, he even pushed me down a well.” It’s spoken with the lightness of a joke. But he knows better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so does everyone else for that matter, although Claude’s scrutiny feels more acute. His tea cup is held to his lips, delicate and gilded while his thin fingers are curled ever so slightly too tight around its handle. Sylvain watches the porcelain quiver. ”I’ve had attempts on my life as well. Although I’m lucky enough to never have met any of them beforehand.” To anyone else, Claude would look like his casual self, completely un-flapped by their dark choice of topic, but there’s something...off about this whole thing. The invitation to lunch, the strange topic of conversation, the formalness of it all. He wouldn’t have thought anything unusual of Claude’s behavior, being nosy was his trademark after all. Claude made it his job to be in the know, even if he seldom acted on the information he learned. But this somehow felt more...Intimate. In a way he wasn’t used too. From Sylvain’s vantage point at the table, he shouldn’t be able to see the red tinted water in Claude’s cup, yet his eyes are drawn to the way it ripples and splashes up to its lip. Maybe Sylvain’s just gotten better at reading Claude’s moods, or maybe Claude’s just more open around him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you’re right. The devil you know is always better than one you don't.” Sylvain sets his cup down, and really looks at the boy sitting just across from him. Small cuts litter his face, and messy brown hair hides Intelligent green eyes. It’s surprising how calm he feels in the other’s presence. Claude grip tightens and it's a wonder that the cup doesn’t shatter under the pressure. “Although I’m more than flattered,” Sylvain reaches out and slowly takes the cup from out of the other’s hands. For a moment their fingers overlap, “You should take it easy, it’s over and done with.” Sylvain can feel the myrth in his own expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green eyes met brown and for a split second, Sylvain swore he saw a well of tears. One blink and they're gone, like nothing had passed between them at all. Claude speaks, “I suppose then, that this wasn’t his first time, taking a life like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain has to think a moment before responding. </span>
  <strike></strike>
  <strike></strike>
</p><p>
  <span>  “No, no it wasn't. I don’t think I could list them all even If I wanted,” Sylvain isn’t sure if he could at all. He’s suddenly racked with the guilt of thinking that he’d let all this happen to anyone else. So he focuses on something else. “He tried to kill himself once. Before all of-” Sylvain gestures to nothing, “-All of this. I guess. It didn’t stick, obviously. But the day it happened, and our mother came into my chamber to tell me, I...I sighed.” Sylvain breathed out through his nose, letting the words settle in the air between them. Then he chuckles, and it’s like all the levity he ever had leaves him. “Isn’t that messed up? I was relieved! I was so...relieved.” The words tumble into his tea cup, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ask the one question that’s been on his mind for eleven years. “I wanted him dead in the same way he wanted me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>him in the same way he hated me. If he’s actions made him a beast, then what do mine make me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude is silent and in that moment, Sylvain is horrified. He should have never said those words, never said anything at all about his past. Who cares about the broken bones and the isolation. Who cares about the threats made real, or about how he was made to live in fear everyday of his life. He had a crest after all. Why couldn’t he just be happy with that - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you're human.” The words stopped the flow of his thoughts. “I can’t speak to the suffering you must have gone through, and I’m sorry. No one should have to go through what you’ve experienced. But I will tell you this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel guilty for defending yourself. It’s what we do to survive.” Claude smiles at him, but it’s not his usual smile. He lets the sadness in his voice reach his eyes, and suddenly Sylvain’s vision is blurry with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath, then another, and another. They speed with the beat of his heart and he can’t help but let the tears stain the table cloth. And all of a sudden someone’s holding his hand again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if it makes you feel any better, I would have lodged an arrow in his throat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, it almost does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Claude was an unabashed seeker of truth. Those things once shrouded in darkness, he coveted, even if he couldn’t expose those deeds for the degeneracy that they were, knowing that those wrongdoings wouldn’t vanish with the silence of those lost was a blessing in deed. And in that unwavering pursuit, he found things. Faceless, horrid things that existed only in contingency. Things that were only, truly there if you went looking for them, only if you were willing. The purposeful obstruction of sin and ugliness alike, Claude sought to uncover it all. He wasn’t the type to take shelter in comforting lies. He reveled in those truths that kept him up at night and lurked in the dark corners of his mind. </span>
</p><p> <span>Even still, there are some things that never meant to see the light of day.</span></p><p>
  <span>Claude isn’t one to cry. He’d learned a long time ago that crying was useless in the face of overwhelming loss. Grief did nothing but slow you down and leave you prone in a world that thought nothing of leaving you in its wake. A fruitless endeavor indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And besides, there were too many moving parts- too many hands at play to let his gaze wander from his goal. And what a lofty goal that was. He wanted to make the world a better place, to rid this world of the prejudice and hate that separated his family and robbed him of his place in the world. He didn’t have time for tears or pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, when he came across the birth records of the hundreds of children born to noble families without crests. When he read of their fates: abandoned, slaughtered, strangled in their cribs, he did not weep. Even when the surname of Gautier, stared up at him from those sickly yellow pages. He did not weep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was an unabashed seeker of truth, but there are some things that are never meant to see the light of day. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Short chapter, because I don't trust myself to handle these topics any more thoroughly than this. But I felt it needed to be written. Sylvain and Claude have both experienced this horrific rejection within society, and I feel like, if they were to be a couple, that this kind of open, conversation is important to their understanding of each other.<br/>Also, I added Claude's POV at the end just to dictate the fact that It was the society they live in that created the monster that is Miklan. Which isn't to excuse Miklan of his actions at all! I just wanted to highlight the way society lead him down this path. The society Claude is working so hard to change. </p><p>Claude jots "crest system" down next to racism and xenophobia on his "To Fix" list lol.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK! 1. In this house we love Ingrid, I just used her to create some dramaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa<br/>2. This is... kinda stream of conciousness.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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